So, we had a big weird hailstorm here. It’s odd, I know, seeing as we are in the middle of June. Sadly I missed the main even, but from what my neighbours have told me the hail came down in sheets. It destroyed all sorts of plants and dented cars.

My mother is now mourning her plants in the yard. They will bounce back, I tell her. But, it really is like the worst thing that has happened to her in years. The hail has also inspired some wishful thinking. The neighbour on our left side has a massive maple and the branches reach over into the back yard. This irritates my mother as the leaves and maple keys fall onto the pack patio – God forbid – causing my mother to sweep up the back area weekly. This drives her crazy for some reason.

The neighbour has promised to cut that branch down, but it has been about 10 years and the branch remains. It hangs there mocking her as she sweeps. Reaching over her head spitefully dropping it’s leaves, sometimes right after she makes her final pass with the broom. Sometimes I catch her standing in the back doorway staring at the hateful tree thinking about how clean the patio would be without it. She curses it and dreams of chain saws.

Now, my mother is convinced that the branch is now much lower and damaged by the storm and may just fall down. So, she recons, they should cut it before it falls and damages the fence. The tree looks the exact same. My mother is delusional.
- posted by Debbie @ 1:25 PM |

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

So, as I mentioned in my post below I am out of a job and currently looking for one. It is funny to me that I am out of a unemployed because I only worked the last one for a year and while I am happy it is over I dislike sitting at home job hunting. It sucks. Also, it is hot as balls outside. When you combine that with my aversion to pants – or clothing in general really – it was just a matter of time before I ended up sitting in front of my computer in bra and a very small skirt. Then I start to worry that I am going to be one of those people in the family. You know, the one who can’t seem to hold down a job no matter what the circumstances. I have one of those in my family, ok the more I think about it the more I realize that we’ve got a few of those. I do not want to add to that count.

So, here I am.

The job hunt has not been totally fruitless – and in reality, I have only been unemployed for 8 days. Yesterday I had an interview with a company I wasn’t even going to apply to as the job advertised was really below my skill level. They wanted someone with one year’s worth of experience. I have several years. They wanted someone to head up a team of people to, “take the circulation of the magazines in a new direction” for all 19 titles. Right. Generally you need more than one year’s worth of experience to take on something like that. Now, I think I can do the job, don’t get me wrong. But, you have to wonder if they are under estimating the scope of the job.

Anyway, who knows what will happen with this job.

What I do know is that I will need to invest in some job interview clothes. Yesterday it felt like down town Manila outside and all I could come up with was a wool skirt and a light wool sweater. Come on now.
- posted by Debbie @ 1:18 PM |

Here We Go Again
So, I owe my blog an apology, as I haven’t written in a very long time. The last post was something silly on November of 2007 and yes it is just below this post.

Well, there has been a lot happening and at the same time not too much. Let’s see if I can condense it to a point form update.

We had Christmas at my cousin’s new house. It was fun. I made the shrimp and hosted the family trivia game after dinner.I was very busy with my job for all of January, February and most of MarchI went to JapanI visited Montreal a couple timesI quit my job due to the obnoxiousness of my insane bossesI am currently unemployed

I would give a lot more details about my job, but I am terrified that my blog can be traced back to me and years ago, when I started blogging, I talked about my job (all the while keeping my employer anonymous. After my departure I discovered he found this blog and was displeased because of the way he was characterized. However, he needs to know that I still liked and respected him. Poor guy, he took it personal. I never meant to hurt him. I mean, I did actively try to infect him with a really bad cold once, but that wasn’t that serious.

Obviously this point form life update cannot really give you a good and colourful picture of my life as my blog did for the years I have been writing it. However, I will now endeavour to do just that again.

Back to the inane ramblings of me. My next post will be right after this one.
- posted by Debbie @ 12:51 PM |

Friday, November 16, 2007

GUESS WHO I JUST SAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just saw, and spoke to Colin and Justin of "How Not to Decorate. That are SUPER handsome in person and very gracious.

They were on the corner of Richmond and Spadina and looked like stars.
- posted by Debbie @ 9:17 AM |

Thursday, August 09, 2007

So, most mornings I take the Queen’s Quay streetcar on my way to work. Once the streetcar emerges from the underground part, the ride is pleasant enough right near the water and the posh condos. The drivers are nice and it is only ever crowded for one stop. However, it has gotten much nicer lately because of a new fixture one stop below King. He is a TTC supervisor who now talks to the drivers and takes notes on time or whatever. I love him. I have seen him for several days now, and I think I am gonna write him a letter. I may even give it to the driver so he can pass it along. It is important that I tell this man how I feel. I think the letter will go something like this:

Dear TTC Supervisor Guy,

I don’t know why you appeared along my route to work, but I remember the exact day and time I first saw you, and my commute has been made better ever since. With every inch of road the streetcar rolls along, you are etched deeper and deeper into my heart. And I firmly believe that is where you will stay.

You make my morning both torturous and exhilarating at the same time. From the second I step onto the streetcar platform at Union Station, during the glide along Queen’s Quay and through the climb up Spadina, I sit in quivering anticipation, suffering until you appear in uniform.

Shamelessly I stare at you from the moment the car glides into your stop until I can no longer keep you in my eyesight as we pull away. The moment lasts less then two minutes, but every time I cling to the desperate hope that you will take a break from your note taking or short chat with the driver and look my way.

You look like you go about your day’s work in a serious manner. You don’t smile and despite my wishes you rarely hold up the driver. You relay your commands efficiently and it is my belief that you are there to ensure streetcars stick to a precise schedule. Perhaps you are too busy to notice, but when you approach the driver’s window, I am the one sitting four seats back, in the single chairs, with my heart on my sleeve, holding my breath.

I know that one day you will no longer appear at the stop below King Street. I know that I am headed for disappointment. Until that day I will remain caught up in your rapture. And after, although it breaks me to think about it, you will remain crystallized in my mind as perfection in grey trousers.

So, it is the end of the August long weekend here in Ontario. The official name of the weekend is “Simcoe Day” but really it is “Caribana weekend.” This year I didn’t go to the parade but I did to make it to one party on Sunday night. In keeping with my policy that I will embarrass myself at least once during a weekend, I jumped on the opportunity that presented itself on Sunday night.

It may have been the drink, it may have been the heat, it may have been the fact that I no longer have any shame, but I decided that yes, I will chat up the attractive man standing beside me. I struck up a conversation and it was going well enough. Then there was a bit of a lull as my brain searched feverishly to find something else to say that he would find interesting or funny. About three minutes later I had come up with something good and I leaned over to him to point out the guy who looked like Akon on the dance floor.* This comment was golden.** Also, it kind of related to what we were talking about before.

Well, as I get the words out, the guy kept saying “what?” Thinking that he couldn’t hear me, I kept repeating my comment, which was getting less and less funny with repetition. It was clear he had no idea what I was talking about. It was also clear that it wasn’t the same guy I was talking to just thee minutes prior. It seems that I was concentrating so hard on figuring out what to say that I didn’t notice the guy I was talking to walk away and some other guy stand in his place.

Undaunted, I transferred my affection immediately to this new guy who wasn’t as cute, but much more funny and interesting. None of that mattered anyway because the new guy had a girlfriend or so he told me.

My friends were really embarrassed, but I wasn’t. I’ve done much worse. Also, they didn’t talk to anyone. Both those guys have probably forgotten about me already. So no harm done. And, I think I sent good vibes out into the universe because at the end of the night this other guy did give me his phone number. It was, however at the very end of the night and there were only about four other women left in the room. Still, I think it was a success overall.

*In all fairness, he didn’t really look like Akon, but there was a young woman behaving like a porn star while she danced with him.**I know for a fact that it was funny because I later tried it on my sister and she laughed pretty hard.
- posted by Debbie @ 2:45 PM |

Monday, July 23, 2007

So it has been a long time since I wrote something. Here is a short point form update on what I have been up to:

I moved back to TorontoI started a new job

OK, that is about it. Those are pretty big things I thin k so let’s just say it has kept be pretty busy.

Now that I am home I am very quickly picking up where I left off. I’m seeing old friends, going for brunch, and most importantly I have returned to the Portuguese chicken I love so well. And, yes, he is still there and I am thrilled!*

Now that I am home, I think I need to put my feelings for him out there in the universe once again. Perhaps, this time, I really will post this letter the door of the chicken place. I just have to let him know how I feel, and I know that I will be speaking for hundreds of women when I say…

Dear Portuguese Chicken Guy,

I have come home. It has been two long years and I could barely stand the pain of being separated from you. I have had other chicken, but please believe me when I tell you that they meant nothing to me. I have saved my deepest devotion for you… and perhaps your equally hot younger brother… and your dad.

I left this city thinking of you and with every visit home I would make up an excuse to stroll by your shop window hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall, you would stand in your family shop serving delicious chicken to your customers, almost exclusively women, with a bad boy look in your eye, and the slightly suggestive curl on your lip. You know we love it.

I don’t know if you would remember me. Why would you? You are your own urban legend. The vast numbers of women passing your storefront shop all know you. I am simply one of the adoring fans mesmerized by the smallest movement of your forearms as you separate two breasts and two thighs. I am held in thrall by the smile that slides across your perfect mouth to greet customers. I am hypnotized by the sound of your voice, though I have only ever heard you say about fifteen words. How did you get this hold over me?

The sight of you has stopped me dead in my tracks. Indeed it has stopped me in time. I remain hotly frozen in your doorway the day I first discovered you. Me, in a t-shirt and a pair of Taekwon-do pants, you in a white tank top and soccer shorts. There you stood, surrounded by glistening chickens and hot roasting ovens, piles of rice and stacks of potatoes, you looked like the God of Passion in the hot, steam filled air. The Greeks and Romans would have worshiped you, given half the chance. I would say that on the 8th day God created you, but that wouldn’t do you justice. Your form, your wicked face, your complicated air, and your simmering sex appeal would take God at least a week, and I would take years to adore you.

So, last night I watched Stomp the Yard. It is basically Drumline but with stepping rather than drumming. But, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t AMAZING! You have to see this movie. The stepping is great, yes, but what makes this movie spectacular is the ridiculously handsome cast. There are a lot of gratuitous shots of topless well-built men doing intricate dance moves. In the beginning, most of the men are fully clothed, but they get progressively more naked as the film goes on. The pinnacle is when one of the groups of men in the film stand together on a mountain top with no shirts all rippling muscles and sweat. Yes Please!

P.S. the guy in this picture, Columbus Short, is a dancer and I love him. Amazingly, there were men in the movie who were even better looking – if you can imagine.
- posted by Debbie @ 11:36 AM |